"It creeps, her swaying with movie-star sadness, always the straight man to your Costello. Caine to your Abel. The contrasts are ridiculous really. Eyes clotted, mouth sanguine, bled of harmony, heavy-limbed; a half-forgotten piano melody tuned raw as a late-morning train, a cold green bottle pushed into your belly, putting the night into your nightmares. It creeps, like your favorite song sung behind the door, and all those fey boys up against it. In this cold studio with one low light bulb and two thin walls, it slams you in that distilled tap-shoed moment before waking. Then away and later, she comes up swallowing, pulling open the curtains announcing the day: clamour, the chaos, the phone: 'Mama,' she says, in a skipped heart-beat drawl. 'I kissed my first big city man.' She nods, leans back, and looks out the grey sky, arranging her ankles, just so, against the glass table-top: a blue-veined child-thigh in repose. She watches your face, the planes in the low morning sky. "Mama," she says, "he's got diamonds in his mouth."
Rachel, 22, living in a small town The Netherlands, loves music, movies, shopping and photography.
photoshop addict and Star Wars dork.
Loves to make new friends.
This is my private journal. Almost every entry is friends locked. Just comment to this post and i will add you.
If you are looking for my graphics, please check the links.